


Hold Hands and Jump

by fitofpique



Category: British Comedy RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitofpique/pseuds/fitofpique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie's been imagining how this would go for weeks, if he's being honest with himself, which he most emphatically is not, and never in his wildest, most disastrous imaginings had he been so pant-pissingly anxious that he asked David to have "a bit of a chat."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Hands and Jump

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "dishabille." Thanks to disarm_d for multiple sanity checks and tough love.

Calm the fuck down, Charlie tells himself repeatedly, emphatically, insistently, on the walk from the Tube to David's flat. He scoops David's paper off his front walk and plants himself in front of the door. Don't be an idiot, he cautions himself sternly. Stick to the script, no fucking improv. Tell him about the film, see what he thinks, and then get the fuck out of there. Nothing to it, so long as Charlie doesn't slip up and say what's he's actually thinking. 

He lifts his hand to knock, but David opens the door before he gets a chance. They stare at each other quite stupidly for what seems like a very long time before Charlie manages to drop his hand, unclench his jaw and speak. "You don't think too bloody highly of yourself, do you?" 

David cocks his head to the side and wrinkles his brow. "Excuse me?"

"Celebrity newspaper delivery? What's next, David? Where does the mad indulgence end?" He delivers the paper into David's outstretched hand and smiles. He feels like he's gone mental, so he can only imagine what his expression looks like. 

David smiles back. "Why should it have to end? I was just about to see if I could get Helen Mirren in to toast some crumpets."

"Bad luck, mate," Charlie replies. "She's heading over to Stephen Fry's as we speak. Bastard has to have his full English."

"Fuck," David sighs. "I don't suppose you know how to work a toaster?" Charlie must look unsure, because David's face crumples in on itself. "Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?" he adds.

"No! No, I actually came over to see if you had time for a bit of a chat." He hates himself the moment the words are out of his mouth. He's been imagining how this would go for weeks, if he's being honest with himself, which he most emphatically is not, and never in his wildest, most disastrous imaginings had he been so pant-pissingly anxious that he asked David to have "a bit of a chat." Anyway, he's said it now, fuck it all, so he pastes another inane smile on his face while he waits for David to respond.

"Yes, yes of course. Come in." David ushers him through the front door and into the kitchen. "Have a seat," he says, gesturing at the kitchen table. "I'll just put the kettle on." 

Charlie sits. He laces his fingers together and sets them on the table and stares at them until David finishes filling the kettle and plugging it in and sits down across from him. 

"So," David says. "What's up?" 

He's wearing striped pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt with a stretched out neck. Charlie's eyes drift down to David's clavicle without his permission and he has to force them back up to David's face, where a delicate flush is spreading across his cheekbones.

"I'm afraid you find me ... dishabille." David stutters over the last word. "Why don't I just ... I'll go get dressed."

"No!" Charlie grabs his wrist as he's about to get up, and if that isn't the most awkward move of his life he doesn't know what is. "You're fine. I mean, it's fine. I should have called, but I was in the neighbourhood," he lies, "and I thought I'd come tell you that I've been writing a film. Have written it actually. And I was thinking of you for the lead." He can feel David's pulse in his fingertips and has to force himself to pull his hand back. He puts it in his lap for safekeeping. 

"Really?" David's smile is wide and ridiculously pleased. "What's it about?"

"It's a heist film," Charlie says, "so you'd be playing against type a bit."

David lifts one eyebrow, looking faintly impressed. "Action hero, is it?"

"Sort of?" Charlie hedges.

"Brilliant," David says. "Will you send me the script?" 

"Yeah, later today, if you like." His eyes drift down again. David's t-shirt is slightly sheer and Charlie can see his nipples through it. As much as the sight delights him, he thinks it's a sign that it's time for him to leave.

When he manages to tear his eyes away, David's looking at him. Speculatively.

"Great. Well, I should get going," Charlie says, pushing his chair away from the table and standing up so quickly he gets a bit of a head rush. 

David stands up too. "Charlie," he says, "look, are you-" He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Would you want to, to ... stay?" 

Charlie has no idea if David means what he wants him to mean and how to respond if he does or even if he doesn't. He tries valiantly to figure it out, but his clapped-out mess of a brain lets him down once again. "Um ... yes?"

"Yes?" David asks, his voice laced with concern.

"Yes," Charlie says, more decisively, and then, "but just to be clear-"

"I'm asking if you'd like to stay and have sex," David says, hardly stammering at all. "With me, if that isn't obvious." 

The flush spreading over David's creamy-fair skin makes Charlie's mouth water, and he can't stop himself from leaning in and pressing his lips to the hot, thin skin stretched over his collarbone. "Fuck, _yes_ ," Charlie says. He closes his hands on David's upper arms and drags him close, kisses him hard on the mouth.

" _Yes._ Oh, fuck," David mumbles against his lips. He slides his hands up Charlie's arms, fists one in the sleeve of his t-shirt and cups Charlie's jaw with the other, tipping his head back and kissing him again and again and again, sucking hungrily on Charlie's tongue. David's lips are soft but his mouth is hot and sure and Charlie opens his mouth wide, lets the kiss go deep, lets David haul him even closer. A shiver rocks through them both, and Charlie's prick surges in his trousers. David's erection is pressed hard against his hip and he can't help it, he lets himself have a smallish swoon. The two of them stagger drunkenly into the table, which screeches across the floor before hitting the wall. 

David pulls away, heaving deep, unsteady breaths, and the sight of his kiss-swollen mouth and mussed hair is too fucking much. Charlie pushes him back until he bumps up against the worktop. His lets his eyes slide down David's body, taking in the outline of his erection, obscene through the thin fabric of his pyjamas. His fingers itch to touch, but he's a gentleman, sort of, so he stops with his hands tucked in the waistband. "Can I?" he asks. 

David doesn't even bother to answer, just shoves his pyjamas off his hips and then kicks them off entirely before grabbing Charlie by the belt and going to work on getting his trousers off too. 

He pauses after unbuckling Charlie's belt and looks up at him, meeting his eyes. "Look, Charlie, I just want you to know-" And though it seems a bit early in the proceedings for the brush-off speech, Charlie recognizes that intro for what it is and his heart drops, plunges actually, down into a puddle of his own digestive juices where it starts to painfully and messily dissolve. He almost doesn't hear the rest of it. "-and I would have gotten around to asking you eventually."

It's not at all what Charlie's expecting to hear. "What?" he says stupidly. 

David yanks down Charlie's zip and squeezes his prick through his boxers. "I'm not a total coward," he says, leaning in and kissing Charlie roughly. "If you hadn't shown up at my house to talk about a clearly fictional film script, I like to think that I would have, eventually, in good time, asked if you were interested. In me, I mean. In having sex, and things, with me."

And things? Charlie thinks. What things? "Clearly fictional?" he says, the very faintest hint of outrage bleeding through the overwhelming, what is that? Happiness? Anticipation? Horniness? All of the above? "It's a real script!" he says, shoving one hand up David's shirt and pinching his nipple. 

"Okay," David says breathlessly, yanking Charlie's trousers and pants down in one go and wrapping his fingers around Charlie's erection, which is surprisingly still good to go. "That works too." 

Charlie groans. "I've changed my mind," he says, flexing his hips and thrusting his prick into David's hand. "I'm casting Daniel Craig as the lead." He slicks his thumb over the smooth, damp head of David's prick and strokes him firmly. 

"Oh my _god_ ," David says, "You ... you're so-" He leans in and kisses him desperately, shoving his hips up and shuddering in Charlie's arms. "You'd better fucking not," he says, tightening his hand on Charlie's prick and fucking whoosh, Charlie is gone, coming so fast and hard his knees give out and only David's arm around his waist stops him from crumpling uselessly to the ground onto the pile of discarded trousers and pants and inhibitions. Somehow he has the presence of mind to hold on, to tighten his grip and fuck David's mouth hotly with his tongue, and it isn't long before David's prick jerks in his hand. There's come everywhere, but fuck it, who cares, he never liked this shirt anyway. 

He leans against the worktop, panting, and David leans against him, gasping, and it's amazing and sticky and fucking amazing. In the moments it takes for them to get their breath back, Charlie thinks that possibly they should start working out, but who cares, who cares? 

"There really is a film," he says into the soft skin of David's throat, once he's recovered.

"Really?" David asks, kissing the top of his ear. 

"Yes!" he insists, tenderly mouthing David's clavicle, "and I didn't write it as an excuse to spend time with you either." 

"Of course not," David agrees, locking his arms around Charlie's waist. "That would be mad."

Charlie can feel their hearts pounding together through their shirts. "Exactly," he says.


End file.
